Letting go and following through

I gave my heart to Jesus when I was fifteen—but this summer is when I finally understood that God doesn’t just want my heart; He wants my whole entire life.

I’m sure you’ve heard this before, that God wants your whole life.  But I didn’t really understand that statement fully until I finished reading Not A Fan by Kyle Idleman.  He talks about being more than just an enthusiastic fan of Jesus, but truly following Him wherever, whenever, and with whatever it takes to give your entire life.

I’m learning every day that to live is Christ and to die is gain.  I have to die to myself, deny myself the things that I want, in order for the Holy Spirit to fill me up.  I’m learning that I can never accomplish anything on my own, and that all I do, every little thing, is all from God.  And since that’s true, it's only fair that I give Him everything I have.  Everything.

God wants more of you than just what you struggle through.  He wants you to trust Him with more than your bills or your health—he even wants the parts that might not give you such a hard time.  God wants you to give Him your time, your vernacular, your diet, your money, your passions, your dating life, your wardrobe choices, your everything.

In fact, wardrobe choices has been a sort of struggle for me, but I didn't notice until I started to give myself up more.  I never really dressed immodestly per se, but clothing and make up and always looking nice became an idol to me.  If you know me, you’ll know that I’ve always struggled with constantly worrying about what other people thought of me. Clothing was a way to make sure people knew I was neat, polished, professional, carefree, mysterious—whatever I thought I wanted to be for that day.  The thing is, I never really thought about what I wore before.  I was never one to wear the short-shorts with a little cheek fall-out, but I do own a few skirts that were cute enough for me to get over the fact that they weren’t school or church appropriate.  I never worried about the neckline of my shirts, because, well, my B-cups aren’t exactly provocative, but I’m learning now that I do need to consider how I look when I’m out, because if I’m proclaiming Christ, I need to reflect Him in everything, even my clothing.

Back-to-school shopping is this weekend, and God’s put it on my heart to pray over each and every outfit I buy.  He wants me to be careful with the money spent and make sure I’m buying something that I truly need, not something I think my friends will like on me.  He’s told me that people will like me for me, and I don’t need to dress to impress anyone.

God’s also got a hold of me about how I spend my time.  I’m home from everything for the rest of the summer, so I’ve got plenty of free time to laze about the house, but God’s been telling me that He wants me to do more than imprint a butt-cheek groove into the couch cushion.  God wants me to keep busy, because when I get lazy, I get lonely, I get sad, and I drown out the voice of God by clicking on the next YouTube video or sitting through an entire twelve hour America’s Next Top Model marathon. God’s put it on my heart to make the house look at least presentable when my parents get home from work, because I know there’s nothing in this world that irritates my mom more than coming home to a disaster zone and seeing me in the same place she left me that morning.  He wants me to delve into a bible study and drown out the rest of the world for more than a few minutes and spend some time, one on one, with Him.

I also know that God has been calling me to give up one of my favorite parts of my school day.  He urged me to get out of the band program at my school.  I protested some, but I knew I'd lose.  God knows what is best for me.  I know with the practice schedule picking up I'd have less time to study the bible or work on lessons for the Sunday school class I want to start with my friends, and being around that ex-boyfriend would be tough, so maybe that's why he told me to get out while I was ahead, but I don't think I know the whole story yet.  I know that God is in control, though, and that He already knows that I needed to get out for a good reason, so I picked up a drop-slip from the school and emailed my band director.  Even if it means a few lonely Friday nights sitting at home instead of laughing with friends in the band bleachers, I know I had to listen to God.  I'd made the mistake of running and trying to do my own mistake before (*cough cough ex-boyfriend cough*) and I know that it does not end well when I try to do things on my own.

Regardless of the reason for God telling me to do these things, I think it is for the best.  If you had told me two years ago that I'd be trying to spend half the money allotted for back-to-school clothes, doing laundry daily without being asked, and dropping out of band where all my friends are, I'd call you crazy.  But I've learned that even though God saved me, He didn't intend for me to be the same afterwards.  I can tell He is chipping away at the little bits of me that I've clung to so tightly, and that's making room for more of the Holy Spirit to live, move, and work in me.

I don't want any part of me any more.  I am useless and all my efforts are futile, if I don't do them in Christ.  The only way I can cope with the heartache of this life is to trust in God, even when He takes away the things I want.  Laziness, style, and band nerdiness were all a part of the old me.  God has made me new.  He wants bigger things from me, and I know the plans He has for me are more beautiful than anything I could accomplish on my own.

If you are struggling with letting go of something, I understand how hard it is to release it to God.  I nearly cried in the school parking lot before I picked up the drop-slip for band, but when I left, I could feel God telling me, You did a good thing.  And whatever it is you are clinging to, I'll have you know that it is not worth compromising your relationship with Jesus.  He is so much greater than any worldy thing--I learned that the hard way.  Let it go.  And let God grow in you.

On breaking up and moving on

I've just returned from yet another two week absence.  One week back in Camp Siloam, and another week in beautiful, mostly sunny Colorado.  And God has yet again been at work in me.

This might be as tough to write about as it was to do, I'm not sure.  But God's done a wonder in me and through me, and if I didn't tell anyone, it'd be a crime.

If you know me, you probably know I was dating the guy of my dreams since November of last year.  Kyle, the sweetest sweetie you'll ever meet.  The adorkable swimmer/tuba player who stole my heart on an away-game band bus (yeah, I realize how cheesy that is.).  The one who never angered me, never fought with me, never disappointed me. The one who always made me laugh, always made me smile on dark days, always cheered me up when I thought I'd never be cheery again.

What you may not know is how totally messed up our relationship made me.

I'd had it shoved in my brain my whole life: do not have sex before marriage.  But other than that, I'd received no Christianly dating advice.  No one told me how to find a good guy, how to stick with him, how to honor God with him, how to behave with him.  Which, inevitably, set me up for disaster.

Kyle may have been the nicest guy I've ever dated, but that did not make him the best by any means.  Yes, he was a "Christian", but he was the type who was dragged by his mother to an occasional Sunday service, who judged the youth group on the games they played, and liked the church because of the food they served.  Not entirely terrible things, but since I was so involved in my youth group, I thought I had it in me to "save" him from his somewhat wicked ways and bring him closer to God.  

I'd heard of girls trying to do this with boyfriends before, and I'd heard plenty of times that it does not work out.  He brings you down instead.  For some reason, though, I got it in my head that I could do it.  Since he wasn't a devil-worshiping, crack-smoking heathen, I thought I had potential to work with.  Maybe I did, but I sure didn't work with it appropriately.

In fact, nothing about us was appropriate.

We spent an unhealthy amount of time together.  I texted him constantly.  I saw him in between almost every single class during school and shared two with him, usually spent the minute school let out till 11:30 curfew (though most times were pushed to a little after 11:45) together on Friday nights, and spent all Saturday together.  Then Sunday morning, he'd sleep in or get dragged to the local "hang out" type church, and I'd get up at seven and sit through my church trying to focus on God, but my mind was always pulled back to him.  Back to his upstairs room, back to the seat of his car, back to the couch in my living room.  God would smack me upside the head every Sunday and Wednesday, and tell me that I shouldn't be hanging around that boy like that, we shouldn't be as physically involved as we were.  I'd go to the altar, promise God I'd put a stop to it all, get up and go on my merry way.

And the next week, I'd do the same exact thing again.

The thing was, I knew what I was doing all along.  I knew it was wrong to be alone like we were.  But I'd convinced myself for so long that what we were doing together wasn't all that bad.  I mean, it's not like we were having sex.  I never crossed that line.  And as long as I wasn't crossing that line, I told myself, we could do pretty much whatever else.  Which was so incredibly wrong.

A few times, his boy-ish-ness would get the better of him, and he'd try to go farther than I wanted.  For the most part, I'd try and fight him off, and he would always back off if I told him it was too much.  But for a while, I would just...let it happen.  Let him do what he wanted, because I was terrified that he wouldn't like me anymore if I didn't let him.  I wanted to be in a relationship so badly that I compromised my morals for a silly boy with a charming smile and greedy hands.  I just wanted to be normal, to be loved.  He gave me that.  And I gave up my values for him.  And I am so, so ashamed to admit that.  It's still embarrassing to write about it.  I hope you don't think less of me; I was trapped in a sin that warped my thinking.

The physical side of our relationship aside, he also become an idol to me.  I never skipped out on actual church, but a few times there'd be extracurriculars that my youth group friends would go to, and I'd ditch them to "watch a movie" with Kyle.  I valued time with him over school work, over friends, and most of all, over God.  I walked into church every Sunday for nearly eight months unprepared to worship because I was still consumed with Kyle and what we'd done the night before.  He became a god to me, and I worshiped him and what he thought of me rather than the Savior who truly loved me.

I guess in summary, it was doomed from the start.  I was consumed with lust, and ignored all the times God tried to give me a way out.

During S-CORE, on Saturday morning's two hour quiet time, God didn't waste any time.  I was reading in Luke 14, where the guy is having a big supper, and tries to invite all his friends over to eat with him, but they all give him lame excuses not to come.  And that's when it hit me.  I'd been giving God the lamest excuse ever.  I didn't want to break up with Kyle because he was so nice, sweet, and considerate, but Kyle was the reason that I couldn't grow or change or do anything for Him.  And I had to get rid of him, because he was only holding me back from what I could be.

This all hit me in the span of thirty or so minutes, and I spent the rest of the time sobbing in my bunk.  How was I supposed to do this?  He was already so integrated in my life.  Our parents were friends, he was close to my younger brother, my friends were so supportive of us dating, all our teachers knew.  He was everywhere.  How was I supposed to just drop him?

The hardest part, I think, was that I wouldn't be able to see him to break up with him for another three weeks after I'd had my revelation.  When I left S-CORE, I went home and kept myself busy to keep from thinking about it all.  Then I went back up to Siloam for church camp, and I was able to keep distracted until Thursday.  I woke up that morning knowing that the next day, after I left and unloaded my stuff from the church bus, I'd have to face him and all that I'd been running from so long.

I moped around most of that day, depression hitting me harder than it had in a long while.  I tried my best to smile and laugh with the friends I'd made and wouldn't be able to see until next summer, but beneath it all I was crumbling with the anxiety of the heartache yet to come.

At worship that night, the speaker talked about Peter and how he denied Jesus.  After all his zeal and dedication to Him, he slipped up, just like Jesus told him he would.  The speaker then took us into the book of Acts, and showed us that Peter eventually stood in the same spot where he denied Jesus and proclaimed His name to people persecuting him.  I don't think I'm explaining it properly, but hearing the message and being counselled by Bethany helped to lift that dark cloud of fear looming over me and allowed me to see the hope I had in God.  I could go back and face my failure.  I could go home and take a stand for Christ.  I could stop caring about the fact that other people would think I was crazy to break up with such a "good" guy.  I could do anything now that I was free from the sin that enslaved me.

Friday night, I drove out to his house.  I told him I'd changed, and he said he could tell.  I told him I couldn't spit in God's face anymore.  I couldn't be a hypocrite anymore.  I couldn't date him anymore.

He said he totally understood, and after a few tears mutually shed and a good-bye hug, I drove away.  I did it.  I was free.

Now, I'd like to say that I was strong and didn't cry over this, but I had to pull over twice on the drive home because, well, it wasn't pretty.  It hurt worse than anything I'd ever experienced, like someone had ripped a hole wide open in my heart.  My friends from S-CORE prayed for me and talked me through it when I got home, and they helped and continue to help me more than I will ever be able to thank them for.

I'm still nursing that wound in my heart.  I still see bits of him in almost everything, everywhere, but it stings less everyday.  Kyle might have left a giant gaping hole in my chest, but God was quick to move into his place and fill the spot that was left.  I don't think I've ever been this content with my life or with my walk with Christ.  I know I still got some places I need to work on, but it is so much easier to work when I'm not being tied down by a shameful sin.

Please, keep praying for me, and I'll do the same for you.  And let me just say, if He can take me and make something good of all the mess I've been in, there is always, always hope for you, because, like I've learned, our God is an awesome, forgiving, and loving God, and He can and will get you through anything.

On S-CORE, trust, and the love of God

I'm about to shamelessly copy my new friend Addy and write about how I spent my last two weeks.  Partly because it was lifechaningly blogworthily wonderful, and partly because I'm still so emotionally drained, and I just need to get all of this out.

I'm a little embarrassed to say that I worked harder in the last two weeks than I have in my entire life.  Not that I'm not a hard worker, just that...manual labor has never really been my forte.  During S-CORE, I was required to wake up at 6:30 every day (even though most days I was still in bed till around 6:45), serve breakfast to mostly grateful children and adults, hose down hundreds of cafeteria trays, send them through an industrial sized dishwasher that made the dish room a good 15 degrees warmer than it should be, inspect the clean trays, sort the clean ones and send back the ones that need another wash-down, scrub pot after pot after pot of mass-produced pudding or hamburger patties, sweep up after kids who spilled crackers and chips and thousands of coco-puffs, wipe down tables covered in salad dressing and lemonade, mop the kitchen that had accumulated more mess than I thought possible, take a two hour break for bible study or laundry, and head back up to the kitchen for yet another meal to begin.  All while surrounded by the most diverse group of teenagers I'd ever had to work with before.

And that is one of the most mind-boggling things about this experience--just how different we all were.  From athletes to musicians, from self-proclaimed rednecks to a city girl like me, it amazes me just how well we all got along and how well we were able to execute any job given to us.

After two days of knowing this band of misfits I now call my dearest friends, one of our leaders, Jonathan, took us on the ropes course, where we were asked to trust fall from a platform into the arms of strangers, and to trust everyone enough to lift you and pull you over a fourteen-foot wall.

At this point in the game is where I became a sniveling, sobbing cry baby.

I've been Little Miss Independent for as long as I could remember.  I don't like other people helping me with homework, I don't let my mom do my laundry, I don't go to anyone for advice.  Because for some stupid, stupid reason, I thought I could do all of this whole "living" thing on my own.  I didn't think I needed anybody, and I didn't think I could trust anyone else in this world but myself.

So when Jonathan asked me to let virtual strangers lift me above their heads, and two other virtual strangers pull me over the top, I broke down.  I couldn't do it.  Not even if my family or my best friends were the ones to get me over, there was no way in the world I'd let them pick me up.  How could I know they'd get me over?

I broke away from the group and Jonathan found me drowning in my own tears.  He asked me what was wrong.  I couldn't trust these people, I said.  No freaking way.  Plus, I remembered, the last time I did this with my church, I was ridiculed and made fun of for being weak and too big to get over.  I can't trust these guys to get me over, and I can't trust them not to laugh at me either.

Jonathan calmed me down, told me to breathe, just breathe for a minute.  He assured me that these guys lifting me up were strong enough to hold me, and the people at the top would assure me and help me over.  These people were here to be my friends.  If they can lift up every other group member, they could lift me too.

After breathing and breathing for another few minutes, I realized how disappointed I'd be in myself if I didn't do it.  Everyone else in the group could do it, why couldn't I?  I skirted around the edge of the wall, trying to pluck up the courage to walk up to the Great Wall of Siloam and finally trust someone for once.

I walked up to the guys doing the lifting.  They smiled, patted me on the back, and said they had me.  They prompted me to do the calls.

"Sp-spotters r-r-ready?"

"Spotters ready!"

"...C-climb on?"

"CLIMB ON WITH YO' BAD SELF!"

Next thing I knew I was fourteen feet in the air, clinging for dear life to my new friends at the top.  They helped me over.  Cheers erupted from the ground below.  I did it.  I climbed the Wall.

Not by myself, by any means.  By the help of the friends who showed me the love of God.

"For by You I can run against a troop, by my God I can leap over a wall "  Psalms 18:29

It was at this point that my barriers started to crumble down.  I thought, hey, maybe I could trust these kids.  Maybe we could be friends.

Through out the rest of that first week, it became easier and easier to get to know these silly kids.  Smalls, who hung upside-down on the bunk above me to talk and giggle.  Drew, who always greeted me with a smile and a genuine "You're doing great, Lindsey!"  Addy, who constantly encouraged me and placed a cool wet rag on my neck when I thought I was going to pass out in the serving line.  Jackson, who always asked if I was okay and patted me on the back when I was overwhelmed by God's presence during the worship service.  Cuillen, who kept right on working when she could despite a previous injury.  Logan, who was always good for a laugh and encouragement, even when I teased him.  Ethan and Grace, whose sassy best-friend dynamic kept me in stitches.  Jeremiah, who told thousands of jokes and kept us laughing and thinking.  Big Tyler, who could be stopped by nothing and worked constantly.  Little Tyler, who overcame a lot just to come to this program.  Brettley and Arron, some of the hardest workers and nicest guys I've met.  And of course, the friends I came with, Alisha and Tabitha, who knew me better than the rest and love me in spite of it.

And last but not least, our wonderful S-CORE leaders, Jonathan, Blake, Leah, and Bethany.  Jonathan and Blake quickly became like the older brothers I wished I'd had, even if they never stopped talking about poop and gave many, many wet billies (if you don't know what these are, good.  You don't want to, trust me.)  Leah was always peppy and happy to work, and knew more about the Word than I thought a girl of 19 could.  And Bethany, what a joy it was to work with her.  We've both gone through a lot of the same situations in life, and I could tell God meant for us to be together.

All of these beautiful, beautiful people quickly became my friends.  Between playing Signs or Sardines and spraying each other down with the pre-washing hoses, between holding hands while we worshiped together and giving pats on the back when we shared our testimonies, it became obvious to me just how much I loved all these goofy kids.  And how much they loved me.  God revealed Himself to me through the love I shared with these kids.

During one of the worship services, I remember thinking just how selfish it was of me to hold all this love and keep it to myself.  I know how awful a lot of my lost friends have it at home.  I know they don't feel loved half as much as they deserve.  And I know how it feels to not feel loved.  How could I keep God's love a secret?  How could I keep all this to myself?  I know I can't live without this love.  How could anyone else?

When we were all packed up and ready to go, we went to the cafe for a final time for the award ceremony.  Bethany presented me with the Perseverance award.  She said she was impressed with all that I was going through, and that I still worked hard and pushed through in spite of it.  She said I was courageous.

That was the first time in my life someone had called me that, and you have no idea how much I needed to hear that.

My mom pulled up to take Alisha, Tabitha, and me home, but once all our stuff was loaded in the car, we stood outside the dorm unit I'd come to call home and cried for about two hours with the friends I'd come the closest to during this time.  We retold stories and hugged and hugged and hugged some more.  A girl from the kitchen staff was saying goodbye to us too.  She said she didn't know me, but she could see God in me, and that I had the potential to do great things.  I cried some more.

We sobbed and snapped a few more pictures.  Finally, we stepped away from the comfort and love I'd grown so used to in the matter of two weeks.  The car pulled away.  I sobbed and sobbed in the front seat, and whimpered out to my mom, "This sucks.  I never wanna love again."

I didn't mean it, of course, but that's how I felt in the moment.  To build up such strong relationships with the first people I had trusted in a long while, and then to have them ripped up and spread across three different state lines was the hardest thing I'd ever done.  Even harder than scrubbing pots for two days in a row.

After a while, God comforted me in reassuring me that this would not be the last that I'd see them.  There is always heaven.  Plus, I'd prayed all that last week for us to become life-long friends, and I know He'll answer that prayer.  He also told me, it wasn't the people I fell in love with.  It was the love itself.  And that Love resides in God.  And God is everywhere.  And I was going to be okay.

I had the opprotunity to go back up and serve in S-CORE for another week, but I felt that God was calling me to come home and put to practice what I'd learned up there.  And to share the love He'd shown me with my family and friends.  He wanted me to act.  And that's what I'm trying to do now.

Keep me in your prayers, because I'm still emotionally exhausted, and because I'm still trying to reach out to people in love.

I love Siloam.  I love S-CORE.  I love my new family.  And I love God with all my heart.  And I am no longer afraid or ashamed to shout that out.

my new family, on our trip to the movies, where we were so loud other people left the theater. oops. luv u guise.

On Body Shaming

Recently I was scrolling through my Facebook Newsfeed and stumbled upon this gem of a status update:

“Thigh gaps are really creepy and kind of gross.”

A few other people commented on this, saying that this is “essentially skinny shaming,” and this person went on to say that “if this is skinny shaming, you have taken the whole ‘body shaming’ thing wayyyyy too far.”

Siggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

People.  I really thought we were getting somewhere.  I thought we were getting past this.

Guess not.

I know what she’s getting at, but at first glance, it sounds so so so wrong.  Let me break this down for you:

The first thing we need to recognize here is that though this person may not have intended it to come across in this manner, the words “creepy” and “gross” are undeniably body shaming. And that is undeniably unacceptable.  Skinny people are just as susceptible to body shaming as fat people, folks.  It works both ways.  Making fun of, degrading, and deeming anyone less than anyone else is called shaming.  And when this person used these words, another Facebook user commented saying that she’d dealt with an eating disorder her whole life trying to obtain the holy, sacred thigh gap, and that if she’d not been at a healthier state now, seeing those words would have really brought her down.  That is why we need to stop shaming people for how they look.  

Body shaming hit me hard when I was younger and got a hold of me until a year and a half ago.  Because of one little boy in the fifth grade deeming me too fat to date, I had an awful relationship with food most of my preteen and early teen years.  I never went too extreme, but because of a body-shamer, I was twelve years old and on a strict diet that made me break down with guilt if I ever broke or indulged.  I was twelve years old and hating every part of my being, praying to be skinny just to be happy and carefree like all the “pretty” girls, whose lives were so easy because they were attractive, and I was not.  That, my friends, is only one story amongst many other victims.  That is why we need to stop calling any one “gross” for how they look.

Secondly, this person fails to distinguish between attraction and beauty.  In the comments, this person continually says that it’s her opinion to think this body trait is “creepy.”  Other people comment saying that “unibrows”, “wieners”, and “ballsacks” are all gross as well as thigh gaps.  Here’s the thing:  it is so totally okay to find anything unattractive in a person.  You can have a preference in appearance, whether you like blonde hair, green eyes, big muscles, skinny legs, thunder thighs, or even thigh gaps.  I, personally, like boys that are tall with big noses and bushy eyebrows, but just because I meet a nice guy without any of these traits doesn’t mean I’ll turn my nose up at him or degrade him by calling him ugly or “gross.”  I think one of the big things we as a society need to separate is beauty and attractiveness.  Beautiful, to me, is more of behavior, actions, and how you present yourself to the world.  Kindness, generosity, and selflessness are all beautiful traits to have.  Attractiveness, on the other hand, is sort of the human equivalent of having the brightest fur or the longest neck or the loudest mating call.  Animals are drawn to those with the traits that will help them or their offspring survive, and humans are drawn to people with the traits that are cool or acceptable in society, which, in this day and age, is money and physical appearance, and without these traits, you might find it hard to survive with all the body-shamers.

In the end, I understand what this poster intentionally meant.  Thigh gaps just aren't something his or her finds particularly attractive, which is an okay thing to say.  The way it was put together, and his or her snarky attitude in the comments are what rubbed me wrong and what forced me to wright this long-ish response.

(If you ever see this, though, original poster, please understand I’m not trying to attack you.  I get what you said, but I do not appreciate how it was phrased.  I hope you understand.)

I encourage you all to go and live shamelessly and unapologically.  Please do your best to love and encourage everyone you meet, and don’t give anyone hate because of the way they look.  Also try and see the beauty in people, as well as the attractiveness.